


I Don't Want to Be Right

by deathcab4cutie17



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:07:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathcab4cutie17/pseuds/deathcab4cutie17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Clint is Natasha's servant. Inter-class dating is a huge taboo, but they can't keep away from each other. One-shot inspired by Amy's Bollywood number in the 8/27/13 episode of So You Think You Can Dance (worth youtubing).</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Want to Be Right

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers.  
> I'm just getting back into writing so it may not be very good.

Natasha almost doesn’t hear the chime of her doorbell.

When it sounds, it is 4:00:38 and Natasha has her arms draped around a man’s neck, her tongue in his mouth and her hips pressing insistently against his. She’s not supposed to be doing this, and that thought turns her on enough that she almost doesn’t hear the bell.

Almost. But, when it comes down to it, her job requires her to be attentive even when distracted, so she _does_ hear, which both relieves and disappoints her.

Natasha pulls back, untangling her fingers from his hair. She grins wide, reveling in the heady feeling that fogs up her brain whenever she touches him.

“Answer that?” she asks, her voice a little too breathy to be casual. Her fingertips slide down his jacket, pulling the buttons of his shirt together one by one.

“Of course, ma’am,” he says when she’s done. She barely has enough time to close her eyes before his lips are on hers again, and then he’s gone before she can open them.

The bell chimes again, and although it is the same obnoxious sound, Natasha imagines that she can hear Pepper’s impatience through it. She’s very particular about punctuality, that one.

While her butler goes off to answer the door, Natasha hurries to the bathroom to reapply her lipstick and fix her hair, which has flattened a little at the back—hazards of being pushed up against a wall and snogged thoroughly. Natasha smiles at the thought, but if Pepper notices the unusual expression on her ordinarily cool friend's face, she doesn’t comment.

“It’s so good to see you!” Pepper exclaims, opening her arms to Natasha. She holds a brand new Quijoté clutch in her right hand and it dangles precariously between two fingers when she takes Natasha’s shoulders and kisses her cheeks. _Kiss-e-and-a-kiss-e-and-a,_ it’s a rhythm both women perfected at an early age.

“You too,” Natasha replies warmly. “How was the honeymoon?”

“Oh, I couldn’t tell you,” Pepper says. She blinks a little and the door to the balcony disappears. Pepper walks through the gap and onto the balcony, Natasha close behind. “It wouldn’t be fair to the girls.”

“Oh,” Natasha waves away the concern with a dainty flourish. “They’ll only want to hear about the sex and the food.”

“That’s basically all it was,” Pepper confesses. She takes a seat in a ComfoChair, which conforms to her shape and size perfectly, and blinks again. Four wine glasses slide out of a slot in the wall, followed by a bottle of Chardonnay. Natasha, remembering her place as host, pours the wine and then sits back.

“And let me guess,” Natasha says. “The food was room-service, so you didn’t have to get out of bed?” Natasha inquires.

“You know me so well,” Pepper tilts her head to the side, beaming.

“And if you didn’t get out of bed,” Natasha continues, “Then that means it was good?”

Pepper opens her mouth to respond and then promptly snaps it shut. “No, no, no,” she says, lightly pushing at Natasha’s arm. “You can’t trick me out of details before Darcy and Jane get here.”

“Forget Jane,” pipes up a voice. Darcy joins them on the balcony, sweeping up the bottle as she goes. She fills her glass three quarters of the way and sits in the third ComfoChair. “Details!” she demands.

Pepper grins and apparently can’t resist temptation. She, of course, had slept with Stark before their marriage, but it wasn’t proper to acknowledge that fact, much less gossip about it. Pepper has been holding back her desire to gush about her sexual escapades with Tony Stark for years, and now she finally gets to, and Natasha thinks that it must be a great feeling.

Natasha will never have that luxury.

She’s been sleeping with her butler for the past three years, and they’ve been _together_ for two years next month. She thinks she may love him, but she can’t tell Pepper or anybody else. She can’t gush about the sex, no matter how much she may want to. She will never have her own honeymoon, because they can never get married. Natasha has accepted this, but still, when Pepper asks Natasha about her own love life, Natasha has to fight the urge to blurt _Oh my god, Clint did this thing with his tongue yesterday, and I think my heart stopped for a moment there._

Jane arrives and the topic turns to food, which is a lot easier to handle. Pepper spent her honeymoon underwater, and she couldn’t eat the fish they served for dinner because she’d seen those same fish only hours before, frolicking outside her window. However, she had no problem with anything on the extensive dessert menu, and even less of a problem when instead of a plate, the baklava was served on Tony’s stomach.

Natasha’s chair faces towards the house, and when she moves just slightly to the left, she can see Clint in the kitchen, brow furrowed in concentration. It looks so cute that Natasha just has to. She just has to.

“Excuse me,” she says abruptly. “I have to go freshen up.” She stands and walks back into the house, through the living room and into the kitchen. Clint’s facing away from her now, so Natasha creeps up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist. They don’t quite touch in the front, so Natasha simply grabs hold of the suit.

A laugh rumbles through Clint’s chest. He turns to face Natasha, setting a spatula down as he does, and puts his own arms around her tiny waist. “How’s it going out there?” he asks.

“Wonderfully,” Natasha answers. “I would never have thought of so many uses for tiramisu.”

“Do I want to know?” Clint asks.

“Probably not,” Natasha smiles. She rises onto her tiptoes and kisses Clint chastely. Well, her intention is to be chaste, anyway, but her intention is never the outcome with Clint. Before she knows it, her tongue is in his mouth, his hands tangling in her red hair.

“Wait, wait,” Clint pushes away softly before things can get too heated. “The soufflés will burn,” he says.

“You’re choosing soufflés over me?” Natasha asks indignantly.

“If I choose you, then the soufflés will burn and you won’t be able to eat them. Your life will forever be incomplete.”

“I’m not as dependent on soufflés as you seem to think,” Natasha remarks. It’s a lie—she would die without Clint’s soufflés—but he doesn’t need to know that. He retrieves the soufflés from the oven, and then turns back to her.

“You should get back out there,” he says. “They’ll be wondering where you are.”

Natasha sighs. “I suppose,” she says. With a quick kiss on the cheek, she rejoins her friends outside and tries her very best to pay attention to the conversation.

When they all leave, Clint brings out the soufflés and they eat them outside, feeding each other bites of the dessert and sips of wine. Natasha finds herself wishing they could do this out in the open, in the park or on the beach, without having to be afraid of being found out. When they get to their bed, the one they’ve shared for a year, Natasha tries to convey her feelings, but just in case he doesn’t get it, she says them out loud.

“I love you,” Natasha whispers into his chest. He stiffens just for a second, but then relaxes and pulls her tighter to him.

“I love you, too,” Clint whispers back.

Natasha will never be able to gush about this to her friends. She won’t get to come back from a honeymoon and gossip about the sex. She won’t get to kiss Clint in public—probably won’t even get to talk to him in public most of the time.

But that’s okay. She loves him; he loves her. She doesn’t really mind if she can’t kiss him in front of people—they more than make up for it later. And if people question her for staying single, well, she doesn’t care what they think anyway. There’s only one person in the universe whose opinion matters to her, and he thinks she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.


End file.
